


Into the Woods

by arcanemoody



Series: How to Lie [5]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Edward's child-minding habits aren't bad -- just misunderstood, Engaged Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, First Meetings, Godparents, Love Stories, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Finale, fairy tale references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanemoody/pseuds/arcanemoody
Summary: Barbara Jr. is currently obsessed with asking the adults in her life how they met --  since her teacher posited the question to a classmate's parents during a presentation at the school."Just a heads up if she asks," her mother tells Edward. "And keep it clean."





	Into the Woods

Barbara Jr. is currently obsessed with asking the adults in her life how they met -- since her teacher posited the question to a classmate's parents during a presentation at the school. Not particularly notable in and of itself, but it has brought home the uncomfortable point to her various parents (particularly Barbara Sr.) how few adults with children she knows that are still together and how few of those adults are even in what could be called “stable” relationships. 

"Just a heads up if she asks," she tells Edward. "And keep it clean."

Ed himself finds the statement... perplexing. And presumptuous, given the almost fifteen-year gap between that first meeting with Oswald and their committed, physical relationship officially kicking off. Evidently those details never made it into any of Oswald's tête-à-têtes with their former conspirator and adversary. Or, if they did, she's since forgotten. 

The question comes up a few days later, when the four of them are having lunch at the manor. The queen of Gotham's commercial real estate and the king of Gotham's criminal underworld have some private matters to discuss and entertaining the former's 11-year-old daughter falls to Edward. Olga is out for the day and Martín, as he does with all of Barbara’s visits (and most of Selina’s), has made himself scarce. Without the distraction of their college-age son or elderly housekeeper/ _ bubbe _ , the wide blue eyes on Ed feel more interrogating than conspiratorial. 

Target practice in the back yard is attempted, interrupted, and, ultimately, ruled out in favor of  _ Legends of Zelda  _ and raiding the pantry for a snack (Ed can always pretend to not hear Barbara through the open window; if he pretends not to hear  _ Oswald _ , he’ll pay for it later). He's retrieving a box of shortbread biscuits from a tall shelf when she finally asks. He takes his time arranging the biscuits from largest to smallest on the plate while he formulates his answer.

"I found him in the woods," he replies, setting the plate on the kitchen island where the small child leans, arms folded on the edge of the counter. "I was having a picnic and he stole my sandwich."

He’s aiming for whimsical which, in his limited experience, children are supposed to find charming; perhaps amusing. Barbara Jr. doesn't appear to be charmed or amused. The quizzical downturn of her mouth reminds him so much of her mother, he briefly flashes back to a woman in black fur, brandishing a pillbox accusingly.

"Uncle Ozzie said you met at the police station and you told him a riddle."

Ed sighs inwardly. Trust Oswald to not have  _ that _ story straight.

"...well, that is true."

"So, which is it?"

"Both. Technically," he replies, relieved when his young interrogator grabs a triangle-shaped biscuit and takes out half of it in one bite.

\--

"Why’d he steal your sandwich?" she asks an hour later, when the two of them are deep into  _ Zelda  _ and the biscuits are long gone.

"He was hungry," Ed replies, perturbed that he failed to anticipate follow-up questions. "And he wasn't feeling well." 

Excising details like gunshot wounds and burying murdered corpses likely falls under the criteria for 'keeping it clean.'

"How did you know he was the one that stole it?"

"...he left a very distinctive trail behind. So I was able to follow him."

"Like Hansel and Gretel?"

The absurdity of the statement throws him long enough that his avatar diverts from the trail on screen and takes a tumble off a bridge. 

“You know you don’t have to make up stories for me, right? I’m not a baby.”

The subtle conclusion in that cuts him somewhere deep even coming from such a young child; the echo of a dismissive tone she no doubt picked up from _ all  _ of her various adult figures. His next words come spilling out before he can contain them. 

“I run cold and hot. I look blue but I am red. For vampires and mosquitoes, I hit the spot. But lose too much of me and you’re  _ dead. _ ”

The flicker of alarm in her gaze is more palatable than her earlier scoff. 

“...blood?”

He can do little more than offer a smile of encouragement before the door to the parlor swings open.

“Okay, munchkin! We’ve got to go. Say goodbye to Uncle Ed.”

\--

“We should probably anticipate a call from Ms. Kean in the next few days,” he tells Oswald later that night, brushing his teeth while his  fiancé turns down their bed sheets.

“Any particular reason?” he asks, hands stilling on the coverlet.

“I may have told the small child something that will give it nightmares.”

Referring to Baby Barbara as “it” is probably not the best thing he could say, but Oswald appears to take it in stride. At least, what Ed can see of him in the mirror as he ducks his head rinse his mouth under the tap. 

“Such as?”

He takes a long moment to swish the water, spits. 

“You stole my sandwich.”

Oswald’s eyes narrow and then widen a fraction. “...anything else?”

“And that I followed the trail of blood you left in the woods.”

“Yeah, we’re  _ definitely _ going to be getting a call from Barbara,” he says, emphatically throwing a corner of the duvet back. “Why would you tell her that?!”

“She asked.”

\--

“You were going to kill me that night.” Ed feels the whisper against his jaw around three in the morning, flickering images of a woodland scene clinging to his lashes as he blinks awake. 

“And you were going to kill me.” The shoddy glass in the trailer door had split when Oswald used his injured arm to slam it into Ed’s skull, leaving a dull ache in his head for a week and causing the lead pipe to slip from his own fevered fingers moments later. A misunderstanding happily averted.

“In all fairness, I didn’t know who you were.”

“Likewise.” 

“Did you tell her that part?”

“I kept it ‘clean’ as ordered.” He turns over so they’re face to face in the dark, sharing the same pillow. “You told her we met at the police station. I wasn’t aware you even remembered that.”

“Neither was I,” Oswald replies, hand sliding up to the side of his neck. “I’ve had some bad nights over the years -- that memory sneaked up on me somewhere.”

“Like me,” he smirks, relishing the breathless, amused hum he gets in return. 

When they’re more awake, Ed will ask on which bad night in which bleak place Oswald remembered a bespectacled forensic tech stalking him across a crowded bullpen for no clear purpose. For now, he brushes cool lips across his forehead, feels the shift of the mattress as the hand on his neck slides into his hair and his own arm slides across a plush hip.

“Do you remember the riddle?”

Oswald shakes his head. “Do you remember why you asked it?”

_ * A little more than a mile, yet fits on your face.  _ The words linger in his mind, overlaid with the dark fairy tale imagery of the second time he met this strong, strange person he had wanted to be close to from the beginning. How little he could properly convey the ‘why’ of same -- to an 11-year-old, let alone to the man himself… though he should probably make an effort to do so. His next kiss skirts across a familiar brow, slopes across a warm temple, morphing into a smile as he feels their eyes flutter closed at almost the same second. 

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> * The answer is "a smile." (Which, if you watch the scene, he got what he wanted. Twice.)
> 
> My alternate title/file name for this story was _Once Upon a Dream_. It also has it's own [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4sXt6mpnNNqSN8YoGY6yXB?si=_0D27w8jQHSRWsaKpMBnxg), which is essentially a soundtrack for all the Oswald and Ed moments in "Tonight's the Night/A Bitter Pill to Swallow."


End file.
